Bodge Cottage heroes

 

When we bought the cottage a year ago, we hadn't anticipated a renovation job. but once we uncovered all kinds of nasties, that is what it turned into. Losing Andy in January made the prospect of turning it into a liveable (and sadly, maybe saleable)  condition seemed overwhelming. The last thing I could think about was DIY.  But in this, the most terrible year of my life, I have been blessed with the support of so many good friends and this month I had two batches of visitors to help me wrestle little Bodge Cottage into something habitable. First, Adam and Helen, old and dear work colleagues of Andy's (and mine, too). We stripped, sanded and heat blasted my bedroom until it was down the the bare bones. Now I just have to try my hand at plastering the walls.

After the weekend, two more friends arrived and the Bodge Cottage torch was handed on, over a cup of tea. Jackelien and Herbert, all the way from Holland and taking time out of their Shropshire holiday to help me out. Jackelien and I met last year when she had a one-to-one needle felt workshop with me and from the start, we clicked, as if we'd been waiting for each other. Funny how that can happen sometimes.

  

The biggest structural job, something I could not do alone and certainly could not afford to hire anyone else to do, was removing the stud wall from under the stairs, to open up the room and provide space for a book case. Or something. But probably a book case.   Herbert assessed the situation and whether he could remove most of the stud wall without bringing the house down.

Work commenced, peeling back the add-ons from the last several decades.  Jackelien discovered the original tongue and groove partition underneath layers of wallpaper. It has a weathered, distressed surface which I am going to smooth down and wax. It's too beautiful to cover up.

 

 

The old plaster and lathe under the stairs was damp and rotten. I had a hand in taking it down, which was strangely satisfying. (The cottage isn't listed or even 'that' old, so this was legal).

 

Then a new piece of plaster board was cut to size and once Herbert had reinforced the struts under the stairs, it was put into place.

 

On another wall, an original oak beam was uncovered, which is going to stay exposed, even when the room is eventually re-plastered.

There were the remains of an old mouse nest in the little gap to the right and I think I'll leave that open too. Put a little 'bibelot' in it as a point of interest. 

 

It was amazing to see the space just as I'd imagined it - and where there were gaps, some of the discarded boards were used to neaten it up, to keep the original character.

Even down to the trimmings on the edge. It's just perfect.

  

And as if that wasn't enough, they tackled the grotty old dog kennels, removing the grim caging and opening up the garden by taking down the trellis. (I was not totally lazy in this operation, but a creamy chicken casserole had to be made...)

So I was able to stack my winter logs, safe from the rain. I don't know how I would have survived this heart breaking year without my many wonderful friends around the world to help and support me in so many ways. Actually, I don't think I would have done.  Thank God for friendship.

 

Mothwoman

I loath carpet; it is up there in my pet hates, along with central heating, as being one of the more self indulgent and unhygienic of modern household innovations. But as we rent, we don't have much choice about it - Landlord has decreed that upstairs we will have wall to wall beige nylon stuff, and on the stairs, a chintzy green runner that I suspect was in place when he acquired the cottage in the early seventies. Imagine my mixed feelings when I discovered a thriving moth colony inhabiting the suburbs of this matted, slippery monstrosity. On the one hand; oh my God, my wools, my fabrics, my leather books, my toys...on the other hand...

I rang our landlord and explained the situation; would he mind if I ripped it up? And so I found myself embarking on my first dabbling in DIY. It was certainly hammered in well, and as I hefted and heaved, it became apparent that moths had been making merry in the underlay for generations. I also discovered - possibly hidden by the original carpet fitter - two pennies, dating from 1971 and a plastic cracker charm of a lucky horseshoe. Which confirmed my suspicions about its age.

Another little surprise were these -

Grippers! Apparently they are commonplace, at least everyone I met that day knew what they were, from nice Mr N, the Post Master, to the girl at the Co-op. Who knew? Not me. I'm a council house kid. Anything which went wrong in the numerous cruddy places we lived in was supposed to be repaired by the Authorities, though it never was. And after that, a succession of equally badly maintained rentals, where neglectful Landlords happily take your money and ignore the damp, the mould, the - oh, don't get me started. Anyway, delightful old cottage this may be, but I'll be surprised if it is here in another 250 years. Back these gripper things, which were nailed flush against the boards; I was ridiculously proud of myself when I worked out how to jemmy them up, using a hammer and screwdriver, and delighted when I discovered what a claw hammer was for - isn't it clever?

It took about 6 hours, and a lot of sweating and swearing; my dainty artist hands aren't used to the rough stuff. But at last, the manky thing was disposed of, and the nice, smooth wood stairs were exposed, moth free and so easy to sweep clean.

After liberating myself from the cactus, I have been on a major stuff-we-don't-want-or-need purge. The village jumble sale benefited hugely. Instead of going to the sale and buying back other people's stuff-they-didn't-want-or-need, I watched our lads get thrashed at cricket by Wantage CC. This being Britain's summer sport, it naturally rained halfway through.






Even the towering book piles are being culled for the village fete bookstall; every saved inch of space makes a huge difference in our little matchbox and as we have decided to stay here, we need to get it just-so, as far as we are able. We've been a bit more out and about this year, and realised that not only can't we afford to move, we don't really want to. Home, even if it is damp with bees living in the walls, is where the heart is. And you can't beat the Cotswolds in summer.